


Sins of Piratehood

by lost_girl_flower



Category: Peter Pan (1953)
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Disney, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christian friendly, Coming of Age, Death, Disney, Disney Movies, Disney Multiverse, Disney References, England (Country), Fairies, God Ships It, Grief/Mourning, Kissing, London, Mermaids, Neverland, No Sex, No Smut, Ocean, Other, Pirates, Puberty, Self-Acceptance, Self-Destruction, Self-Discovery, Sharks, Underage Drinking, Violence, Wakes & Funerals, life - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:12:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3641382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_girl_flower/pseuds/lost_girl_flower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John discovers that once he becomes a pirate, there is no going back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue

 

The battle between the Lost Boys and Captain Hook’s pirates raged on into the orange air of evening. Captain Hook had kidnapped the Darlings and the Lost Boys. John and Michael were huddled up high in the crow’s nest, John protectively holding Michael on his hip. “Don’t worry” John mutters, “we’ll get home to see mother soon, everything is going to be okay.” Michael smiled, his teeth were rather pointy for someone so young, John noticed. Below them, the clash of metal and grunts of hairy men serenaded the high seas. Peter was perched precariously on the mast dagger clutched in his fist fighting Captain Hook. A pirate, sword clenched between yellowed teeth, started to climb up to the crow’s nest where John and Michael were hiding. Defenseless, John tried to hide himself and his younger brother when the pirate clambered over the edge like a crab over a coral reef. His giant paw-like hands clutched Michael and held him aloft, and with a deep booming laugh threw him overboard! John stared horrified into the wide, terrified eyes of his baby brother. John reached for Michael’s small tiny hand and narrowly missed only grabbing his fingertips. He watched horrified as his little brother fell, until all he could hear was a splash.

Suddenly a small green shoe flew through the air and struck the pirate in his one good eye, sending him toppling over the crow’s nest and onto the hard planks of the deck far below. As John searched for the source of the shoe, he saw Peter Pan shoeless fighting Captain Hook. A wave of gratitude swelled in his breast as John raced down the rope ladder to rescue his little brother from the cold ocean water.

As soon as John reached the deck, he leapt into the cold embrace of the ocean. He saw Michael floating several yards away—Michael was still okay! He swam in hard, fast, messy strokes to Michael. But why wasn’t _he_ swimming? It was then that John noticed the blood turning the clear waters a dirty red.

Coral. Michael hadn’t landed in the safety of the open water after all. A cruel coral reef intercepted the baby boy. John, after what seemed like an eternity of swimming, reached Michael. John extracted his brother gently from the reef, sharp bits of coral gouging their flesh in the process. John tenderly gathered Michael into his weak, bleeding arms. Michael blinked and looked into his sibling’s watering eyes. He gave John a sad smile. “Don’t cry. At least now I don’t have to grow up.”


	2. The Storm Rages On

Chapter 1

The Storm Rages on

               John stared into the blank, dead eyes of Michael’s teddy bear, remembering that moment from so long ago when he’d lost his baby brother. Guilt swamped him as he recalled that awful day. “John?” Wendy called briskly from the hall.

Wendy strolled confidently into the abandoned nursery. “Whatever are you doing in here?” The young woman asked in confusion. She stopped abruptly when she saw the toy in John’s hands. John struggled to speak around the lump in his throat. “Just thinking.” He muttered.

Wendy frowned. “About Michael?” The piercing loss of a little five year old boy up clouded John’s mind like a fistful of dirt cast into a clear pond. “It doesn’t do for a young man to dwell on such a tragedy. In any case, we must get a move on. The Haversham’s have invited us to dine with them in their abode.” John looked down, remembering a time when his sister was more carefree and joyful. He smiled to himself, “Yeah, kay.”

The Darling family gathered up their bicycles and made their way to the Haversham’s home for dinner. During their commute, John couldn’t help but think of Michael once more. As he tried to concentrate on the light conversation, the mesmerizing flap of his mother’s skirt in the wind as she rode her bicycle reminded him of sails billowing in the sea air. Pirate sails.

_Michael’s body had been buried in the grove in Neverland, nearly every citizen of Neverland in attendance. The mermaids, bubbly smiles dimmed, watched from the beach. Tiger Lily crouched nearby singing a song of grief. Her people were bowed behind her, all holding candles, ignoring the wax dripping over their handsThe lost boy had solemnly wept from behind the trees. The crocodile led the procession from the shore, Michael on his back. The dim light of fireflies flickered in the shadows across the glen. Peter Pan hid himself in his den. His mind, where once swam happy thoughts, was clouded over by dark musings. Michael’s teddy bear lay on the floor next to him. He lunged up from his seat, suddenly, and threw the once beloved toy out of the den._

_John followed the precession, his head hung low solemnly. As he was walking he happened upon the discarded teddy bear. He picked it up, hugged it to his chest, and looked around to see where it came from. His eyes landed on where Pan was residing. He stormed into the small den, threw back the bear skin curtain, and stared angrily into the large elflike eyes of Peter Pan._

_John cuddled the bear close to his chest, and struggled to regain his composure. “You couldn’t make it to the—“ he cleared his throat “Funeral?” Peter blinked sullenly. John punched Peter in the chest, putting his full weight behind the blow. Peter grunted full-throatedly. John stood still, panting slightly, still holding his brother’s bear. Peter muttered “What’s your problem?” John punched again, this time aiming for Peter’s stubborn face. Peter nimbly sidestepped the blow and repeated his question. John blurted out; “No. What is your problem? I needed my friend. I understand you hurt, but I hurt more. He was MY brother. You are a selfish brat.” Peter flinched as though he had been struck again. “I … I … I’m not a brat.” Peter said in a small voice. John cornered him; “Explain, Pan” he sneered, spittle flying. Peter started to cry. “It scares me.” He whimpered. “I thought that death couldn’t find me here.” John stared blankly at the crying nymph. Peter continued; “We don’t die here. I don’t die and no one I love dies and we all live forever so we can play.” John started to cry as well. He quietly stated “It doesn’t work that way. Not even here. Everyone dies. And even when you hurt, you need to suck it up.” The two grieving boys embraced, tears staining each other’s shoulder. Michael’s bear, still tightly clenched in John’s hands, gently rested on Peter’s back. Neither spoke; the sweet-smelling moonlit silence comforted the exhausted boys more than words._

               John was awoken from his reverie by a cold splash of mud upon his bespectacled face. He’d run through a puddle. They arrived at the Haversham’s manor, and parked their bicycles. Mr. Darling appraised the family’s appearances brusquely. His gaze alighted on John’s dirty, wet face. Mud stained John’s formerly crisp white shirt. Splotches of boiling scarlet spilled across George Darling’s pudgy face with alarming speed. “What in blazes happened to you, boy?” John grunted, “Puddle in the road.” His father blustered on, “This is a nice dinner with nice people, why do you persist in making a spectacle of yourself? If this dinner goes awry, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life, my boy.” John stared at the ground in silence and nodded in agreement.

               They proceeded into the house, single file. A quiet maid greeted them and showed them into the cavernous dining room. The distinguished family of three stood stiffly in a row, faces fixed in appropriate expressions of welcome. Mr. Haversham smoked his pipe at the head of the table his voluminous mutton chops twitching in dignified agitation. Mrs. Haversham, a lanky gaunt woman stood next to her husband, viewing her guests with majestic nonchalance. Their son, Beauregard Haversham stood erect by the door, his plush skin glowing with health.

Wendy glanced at Beauregard with abrupt hunger, then quickly looked away. Beauregard was widely regarded as the stuffiest young man in the city of London. John couldn’t understand why Wendy took such an interest in him, but she did. Their parents wished to have Wendy marry the young Haversham, it was the “proper” thing to do.

Both families sat down in their assigned seats. Mr. Haversham was at the head of the table, Mrs. Haversham at his foot. By him was Mrs. Darling and Mr. Darling. On the other side of the table were Wendy, Beauregard, and John. John thumped into his seat and stared at the elaborate table settings and the petite songbird, deceased and stuffed perched on a slender bit of flora and wood, the multicolored feathers combed neatly, glistening in the lamplight.

The servants filed in and started pouring water and wine and placing freshly glistening snails in front of every member of the family. John struggled through what seemed like endless courses until the time had come for his favorite course of all: dessert. Elaborate silver bowls with a small helping of vanilla ice cream was placed before each person sitting at the table. Mr. Haversham spoke, “Have you heard that Queen Victoria has passed?” Mr. Darling answered with, “Yes. Quite the tragedy, ‘long live the Queen’ and all that.” John zoned out again while the dull conversation droned on for what seemed like forever until someone called his name. “John!” Mrs. Darling called to him, firmly but softly, “We are taking tea in the drawing room, dear. Come join us.” Then more quietly she said, “And please try to join in on the conversation. You’re being incredibly ill mannered.”

The two families walked to the drawing room, where tea was being served. The tea matched the tone of the rest of the meal, dull and without flavor. The conversation turned to Wendy and Beauregard. How well matched they thought the two of them were, and brief mentions of the coming out season that was upon them. Wendy and Beauregard glanced longingly at each other. John could only sit there silently and helplessly. Missing the Wendy he knew and grew up with. Where was that girl? That girl who used to tell them stories of Neverland and … Pirates.  _No don’t go there_ , John thought,  _not now_.

After what seemed like an eternity of dull, dry conversation, the butler brought in a shining silver platter of croissants and along with it, a matching tea pot and small tea cups and spoons. John noted with a defeated sigh that there was no sugar or any form of sweetener to be seen. As the platter got closer, John smelled something familiar… blueberry jam. Michael had always loved blueberry jam. He fought to hold back the tears as everyone in the drawing room spread the delicious sticky substance onto their pastries. He became so overcome with emotion that, without realizing, he rose up with grief suddenly, knocking over the butler by the pelvis and spilling the brimming pot of hot tea directly onto the youngest Haversham. Beauregard stood, his stiff demeanor intact despite the steaming liquid pouring off him and a quiet grimace of pain, as Beauregard tried and failed to hold back a single tear leaking from his eyes. Shortly after noticing this, John flew toward the door and gathered up his bicycle, cheeks burning with embarrassment, and eyes burning with tears, he peddled furiously for home.

The Havershams and Darlings sat in shocked silence. Beauregard strode for the door, regaining his dignity as best he could, limping to privacy like a wounded animal.

Wendy leapt after him, grabbing his coattails. “Beauregard, please no! I’m so so-“  Beauregard shook her off and Wendy toppled over like a sapling succumbing to the powerful winds of an Autumn storm. “Is your family always like this?” he murmured coolly despite the burn still spreading across his body. He left the room to tend to his injuries, leaving Wendy sprawled on the dining room floor. 

Mrs. Darling smiled apologetically at the remaining Havershams, as she said, “I’m ever so sorry. Since the incident, John simply has not been the same.” She stopped when she noticed Mr. Darling glared sharply at her, violently clearing his throat in her direction. “Wendy, dear. That’s no way to act.” Mrs. Darling gently scolded. Wendy scrambled to her feet. The Havershams suggested that the dinner was postponed for another day and the Darlings all headed home.

Back in the nursery, John wept, curled in a ball around Michael’s teddy bear. His mind swam, trapped in a whirlpool of self-loathing, disgust, and guilt. The door flew open, illuminating John’s huddled figure. Wendy strode in with a calmness contradicting her intensity. She approached and time slowed as her satin begloved hand flew toward his face. Her fingers hit his jaw with a sharp thwack and his head jerked back, flung by the force of the blow into space. She had never struck him before!

“How could you? I suppose you enjoy seeing me suffer! I looked like an utter fool in front of the man I’ve dreamt of marrying for so long! An utter fool!” This was enough to shake John out of his stunned stupor, “It’s not like that! I just… I was just… I forgot where I was when I saw the blueberry jam. It was Michael’s favor-” Wendy interjected “This is  _not_  about Michael! Do you realize what you’ve done? I miss him too, John. But you can’t let his death cripple you so. You didn’t speak one word during dinner. You looked like an utter simpleton!” John spoke again, “You don’t miss him the way I do. You weren’t there to pull him out of that reef. A pirate didn’t rip him from your arms. You have no idea how this has affected me.” Wendy was now shaking with anger. Her normally composed face screwed into a tiny ball of anger and her clear azure orbs glistened with feeling. “You’re right John. It does effect me differently because I wasn’t so irresponsible as to take him into such a high and dangerous place. If he had stayed with me, I can assure you that he would’ve made it home safely. If he had been in my arms, he wouldn’t have been ripped out. If I had been holding Michael, he would still be alive.”


	3. The Belly of the Beast

**Chapter Two**

**The Belly of the Beast**

John tossed and turned in his bed all night. How could Wendy have treated him that way? How could she have said such terrible things? He was losing his big sister. He knew it from the bottom of his soul that things were never going to be the same. He knew that the moment that they buried Michael. But he had never fathomed losing the only other sibling that he had. He felt a stabbing weight on his heart. He knew he wouldn’t ever feel relief from this horrid pain. Michael was gone, and Wendy was leaving. It suddenly dawned on John that they were the only friends he had ever had, apart from Peter and the Lost Boys. He dreamed of going back. He missed that far away dreamy feeling, a feeling that he wasn’t sure he would feel again. He knew of ways to numb physical pain, but how to mend the emotional wounds? Resigned to a sleepless night, John got up, snuck downstairs, and mounted his bike.

               He got his bike and rode aimlessly. He lost track of how long the ride lasted. After a time, he no longer knew where he was. He stopped and got off his bike. He was in the seediest part of London—the Liverpool District.  Debris littered the street and the odor of fish and excrement filled the air. A brothel sat on the corner, buxom courtesans flaunted their wares on the street, lewdly gesturing him inside. Strange feelings filled his body, confusing his tired mind.

               The sweet smell of opium smoke perfumed the greasy air. A small Asian-American man beckoned him forth, his haggard face scrunched into a smile. “Come. Smoke,” he said in broken English with a crooked smile.

               John started to decline, but stopped. Opium is used to aid sleep. Opium will help relieve the pain. He entered the den.

               Smoke filled the dim room, dozens of patrons lolling about on cushions placed haphazardly on the floor. More prostitutes filled the room, chests brazenly bared, hints of pink peeping over their bodices. John wandered through, bemused. He was scared, but resolved. He would show Wendy what it was to see a world dissolve in smoke. He seated himself on a once-silk cushion stained with a sticky substance, and glanced at the scene with apprehension. A boy about his age scurried up to him, offering a pipe of opium. The boy’s chocolate brown eyes stared dead into John’s limpid blue orbs. He was ebony-haired, copper-skinned, and he wore only an opened vest, be-patched pants, and had a multitude of scars on his bare, gaunt, emaciated, chest. John reached for it, and inadvertently met the boy’s eyes. The youth stared blankly at the ground, his eyes a pair of black orbs of despair. The hand shook.

               John leaped to his feet, toppling the blind boy over. He scrambled out of the basement, leaving behind his slippers. The bicycle was not where he’d left it, but he ran west.

               It was dawn when he found his “family” home. He glided across the lawn when he passed an old run-down dog house, which housed the only true friend he’d had, Nana. Her once downey-soft fur was now coarse and mostly white. The harshness of the mortal coil showed in the sagging of her skin. She didn’t see very well, and jumped and lightly nipped at whoever tried to pet her, but John loved her all the same. He swooped past her, greeting her with a light stroke, and her reciprocating with her traditional startled nip.

The mansion was quiet—John hadn’t been missed. As he entered the foyer, he realized what just happened. Nothing was right. He longed to return to the days when he was a middle child.

  _He and Wendy had returned home from their tragic adventure. The misty moon shown dramatically on Michael’s barren bed. “What will we tell them?” John asked, fingering Michael’s teddy bear, now missing an eye. Wendy glided thoughtfully to the open window, and gazed solemnly and stone-faced at the sharp cobble stones below. She slowly turned around and stared at John. “I suppose we could tell them that he got up in the night, and the window wasn’t locked, and he… fell.” Just then, Mr. and Mrs. Darling erupted into the room. “What are you doing up?! It’s nearly 3:00 in the blessed morning!” Mr. Darling slurred, his whiskers drenched in whiskey. “Why can’t you follow Michael’s example?! He’s jolly well YOUNGER than you and he knows he should be asleep!” Suddenly, John exploded into tears. “Father”, Wendy said, “Michael must’ve gotten up while John and I were asleep. We only woke up when we heard him scream and well, Michael fell out of the window. He’s dead.” The eery silence was broken by Mrs. Darling crying as she collapsed, and her father bellowing, “Great Scott!”_

               John shuddered suddenly as lightning flashed through the barred window in the hallway. He retreated to the privacy of his room to shake damp hands with the demon that lived with him his entire life . . . and release his pain and tension.


	4. The Journey Home

Chapter 3

The Journey Home

 

The sun rose a firey blood red in the orange dawn of morning. John slowly got up, letting out a grunt of displeasure. He ached. Yet he enjoyed it. He felt free. He slowly got dressed, painstakingly pulling on his trousers, his boots, and his belt. John always hated belts. They restricted him. He began to reflect on this when his eye was drawn to the calendar in his room. March 8th. Michael’s birthday. He would’ve been seven today. John wept internally, as he realized that Michael would never have another piece of cake for his birthday. He wouldn’t get to watch him grow into a young man. John was going to miss out on so much. How unfair it was, that Michael didn’t have to feel this pain. How unfair that while Michael lay dead in the earth of a faraway place, that it was really John who wasn’t alive.

_Mourners and distant relatives surrounded the Darling family. “Who are these people?” John thought to himself, clutching the teddy bear, now missing an eye and a leg, its head protruding with stuffing. “They didn’t even know my brother.” The casket was closed. There was no body inside, after all. It was assumed by all that Michael’s fragile, supple body had been lost at the bottom of the pond under the window. The air sang with cries of “how unfortunate it was” and “how sorry everyone was”. Sorry. Sorry for what? Everyone talks as if it were there fault, when really if John hadn’t’ve been so foolish his family wouldn’t have been in this situation. He was forced to sit next to his great aunt, Millicent. John always disliked her. She was always sweating, and now was doubly wet with tears. “Fake tears”, he thought to himself, “they’re all fake. None of these people here were there. Only Wendy and I know what happened, why isn’t she crying?” he stared at Wendy the rest of the service, and even at the burial when they were throwing dirt onto the site, she never shed a tear. Nor his mother, nor father. John felt a lump in his throat that lasted the entire day. “I’m losing my sister now too.” He mumbled to himself as he lay awake that night in his bed._

“John!” John was shaken from his revere, staring blankly at the ceiling as he found himself, once again, laying awake in bed. “Jonathan!” the voice called again. It was Wendy. She was the only one who ever used his full name. How he hated it. “John it is past 10:00 am! You absolutely must wake up!” John groaned. “Kay. Coming.” He hesitantly got up and began to dress. He begrudgingly went downstairs to find that the other residents of the household had finished breakfast. He floated absentmindedly into the study, where his tutor was waiting. John sat through his lessons, head in his hand and face staring out the window. “Master Darling, do pay attention.” His tutor said to him, stuffy voice and stiff demeanor. John turned begrudgingly back to his desk and began his arithmetic. Slowly the session moved toward history. The history of the British Navy was the subject for today. John’s father was aspiring to enlist him in. It was a great honor to have a navy soldier in the family, and now that John was the only boy… _“Not now. Focus.”_ John scolded himself. John really had no interest in joining the navy. If he was to spend any time at sea, he would much rather be free to go and do as he pleased.

The rest of the day passed on uneventfully. John later joined the members of the household for dinner. He was almost completely ignored throughout the meal. _Nothing unusual there._ He thought to himself, despondently. But he did notice the air of apprehension aimed at him throughout the course of the meal. Nobody at the table would look him in the eye. The serving staff treated him more briskly when giving him his food. Wendy seemed disgusted to be near him, his mother looked through him sadly, and his father stared disapprovingly at him down his nose. His father turned to Wendy, and murmured in her ear. Wendy nodded grimly. _Do they know?_ John wondered fearfully and got up and went upstairs in a panic. He sat alone in the dark and desolation of his room.

Wendy glided in gracefully. “John, do you know what is wrong with you?” John looked up in confusion. “Uh…uh…um….fine. I’m okay.” He lied, fingering the toy pirate ship in his hands. Wendy sighed exasperatedly. “Why do you insist on keeping that vile thing?” she shrieked, pointing at the small toy. John just shrugged. “Just because” was his only response. Wendy scoffed. She stared at him like a stranger. “You always were so fascinated with pirates. Always filling Michael’s head with stories of their vile ways. Selfish, self-serving, creatures all of them. All out for one thing, their own pleasure. Is that who you want to be? A self-pleasuring thief?” John stared aghast. She _did_ know. “How…how… Wendy, let me explain I-“ Wendy cut him off with her hand. “No, John. Stop. You know how he lost his hand? How… _Hook,”_ she choked out, “lost his hand? His own selfishness. Peter saw him performing vile acts. Unnatural acts, alone. When he caught him watching, he went to attack Peter, but his hand was withered away due to the perversity within a matter of minutes and fell into the ocean. That’s how the crocodile ate his hand. He vowed vengeance on Peter Pan, not for bisecting him, but for being the sole witness to his shame.”

John stared agast at Wendy’s solemn face. He burst out, “That’s just a myth!”

Wendy stood with a still grace. “Don’t you know how one transforms into a pirate?” she asked disdainfully. John started at the abrupt change in subject. “No?” he stuttered.

Wendy gasped. “Then you don’t know what has happened?” “No.” John said.

               “Piracy comes from theft. What you stole last night was no different. The race of pirates is bound by that choice you made.” Wendy leaned in close and grabbed John’s arms. “You’re a pirate John.”

               John blinked at her. She sighed gustily and grabbed a small hand mirror from the nearby table. She held it to his face. He stared at his reflection for a moment before noticing a difference. His face, too young to grow hair, bristled with a shadow of a beard. His freshly washed skin had a thin layer of grime coating it. His skin, pale from hours spent indoors, now had a sun-kissed glow. A thin braid emerged from John’s neatly trimmed hair.

               He stumbled from the reflection. He shook his head in denial. “No. No! That’s not possible. This is just my maturing! Part of growing up is all. I didn’t do anything wrong!”

               “Yes. You did. You knew better.”

               John began to cry soft tears of confusion. “This doesn’t change anything. Right, Weddie?”

               Wendy swooped past John. “Don’t call me that. You’re not my brother anymore and you don’t have the right.” She opened the door a crack, but John reached out for her shoulder before she could leave him. She whirled with a sudden ferocity and whacked away his hand. “DON’T TOUCH ME YOU FILTHY PIRATE.” she growled at him. She spat a large glob of saliva onto his face. It dripped down his chin. John reeled back in shock. Wendy smoothed her skirts and hair. “You are no longer welcome in this house.” She said, coolly. “Best of luck.” John stared blankly, his eyes filling with tears, he slowly turned, then ran out of the door and down the stairs.

John burst out the door, his mother faintly calling after him, wondering what was wrong. John just ran, tears of rage and embarrassment running down his face. He had to escape. He had to get away. He stopped halfway across the London Bridge. John bent over, panting. “h-h-how…” was all he could choke out. He stood up and went to the rail of the bridge. He stood on top of it, gazing into the sky. He found The Star. The Star that guided them to their land of adventure. The Star that gave them their last few days of happiness and contentment. The Star that caused so much grief. “HOW COULD YOU?!” He screamed at the burning rock in the sky. He hated that star. And he loved it. He stood a little while longer, tears streaming down his face.

He looked into the ocean water below, where he could see the reflection again. It was then with a heavy heart that he realized what he must do. He couldn’t go back, there was no way. Not after how Wendy spoke to him. He couldn’t face the way that his parents looked at him. He had to get away. He had to fly. He leaned forward and plunged toward the reflection of the bright little star in the water. He felt the splash, felt the cold muddy water. As he neared the bottom of the river he felt the bottom. Not the bottom of the lakebed, but the deck of a ship.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four

 

               The sea-water-drenched wood absorbed John’s weight with a thud and a clatter. He heard strange noises behind him. He whirled onto his back. Pirates. Pirates surrounded him.

They eyed him with confusion. One of them, a gaunt, aged, hook-nosed pirate, grated, “That’s Peter Pan’s friend. The John boy!” A murmur of discontentment rose amongst the gathered crew. Another pirate, a burly, dark-haired man, said with a faint French accent, “LET’S KILL HIM!” And then they started.

They had only just begun when Hook’s left-hand man, Smee, threw himself before John, splaying before John’s vulnerable body. “Can’t you see?!” he cried in his distinct voice. “He is one of us now!”

The other pirates stopped and examined John. A chant rose among the crew. “Pirate. Pirate. Pirate! Pirate! Pirate! PIRATE! PIRATE! PIRATE! PIR-“ the door of the captain’s quarter’s exploded open as a whirlwind of a man burst forth.

“WHAT IN BLAZES IS GOING ON?” he thundered. All John could see through the crowd was the glint of a hook being waved about. A reverent hush fell over the crew. They parted like curtains to let him through. A sleek mustachioed man, tall and lanky, strode in with panache. He had a prominent chin and oily black hair. He looked tousled and tired.

Hook examined the display. Smee darted to his master’s side to whisper in his ear. Hook’s beady orbs lit with interest.

He approached John’s prone body. He gazed at him. Their eyes met. Hook saw a familiar face behind the stubble and grime and age. He saw the young boy who had fought with his nemesis. He remembered the sobbing boy in the water holding the bleeding husk of his young brother. An array of emotions flew over James’s face. Anger. Confusion. Rage … Sympathy?

               After several long moments of silence as Hook deliberated, Smee asked concernedly, “Cap’n?”

               Hook shook himself from his thoughts. “It’s quite all right Smee.” He responded hautily. He strode down the steps with an elegance that most pirates did not possess. He stared down at John’s prostate form and spoke again. “How came you to my ship, boy?” John spluttered and choked in response. “I-I-I … fell into the star.” Hook pondered the brilliance of finding a path to Neverland without flight. “My family…they…” John trailed off with a far-away look in his glistening tear-filled eyes. “They discarded you. They left you to die.” John looked at Hook, aghast. “It’s the way of their kind. No loyalty.” Hook felt an earnest tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see his stubby companion. “Pleas cap’n”, Smee implored, “let him stay. He has nowhere else to go.” Hook pondered the request. He looked back at the young man, once a boy, laying on the deck of his ship. “This young man is clever enough to find Neverland without the use of flight” he thought “his cleverness could be an advantage.” He broke from his thoughts and coughed. “Very well. If he can prove himself worthy, he may stay.” There was an uprourous cheer from the band of pirates aboard the Jolly Roger. John was apprehensive, “Wait… I’m a pirate? I’m afraid I don’t understand. How can I be a pirate?” Hook interjected, “You merely look like a pirate, my boy. Now you must prove it.”

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

               On a bank near the shore a blonde, lanky young boy stood overlooking the bay. His blonde hair blew out like whisps of gold under his red, fox-eared hood. Slightly was on Hook watch that night when he saw John fall. He knew it was him instantly, and stood in fear for his friend’s life. “Report back immediately if anything unusual happens.” Those were His orders. Something strange did happen indeed. He’d never seen anyone come through Neverland that way, floating slowly but intentionally like a stone in a pond. He stood up and rushed to the Tree that they boys resided in, making straight for his leader’s quarters.

               Peter Pan was, like he often was these days, contemplative. He sat before a mirror staring long into its reflection. The red-haired nymph stared back, glassy blue eyes glistening in the lamplight. He was thinking back to the days when Wendy and her brothers were in Neverland with them. “When will they come back?” He often wondered. “They said they would. And a promise is a promise.” Suddenly Slightly ran like a whirlwind into his quarters. “Sir!” He stated, out of breath and giving a rushed salute. Peter was taken aback by his sudden appearance. “What is it?” Slightly took several moments to catch his breath. “Anything….strange….or” he panted loudly “unusual. You said to report.” “Yes what is it?” Peter asked impatiently. “John. He’s ba-“, Peter cut him off “John?! Is Wendy with him?” “No, but-“,  “Why isn’t she with him? She promised!” “Sir, I-“,  “ Is she hurt? Is she sick?! Why isn’t Wendy with John? She wouldn’t be grown up yet, would she?” “SIR!” Slightly yelled, “sorry to shout, sir, but this is an emergency and you’ve got to listen! John is with Hook and his crew! He’s stranded on the ship!” Peter stared, dumfounded. “He’s a dead man. You know this.” “Maybe not.” Said Slightly. “I heard something about the pirates letting him join the crew. We have to save him!” Peter stood, stoic and stone faced. Why would the pirates allow John, someone who fought them, to join the crew? It didn’t make any sense. “Alright. Gather the boys. We’ll leave as soon as the sun goes down.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~               .~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

               “Boy.” Hook demanded. “You will have to pass three tests of piracy.” John nodded. “The first test is a test of thievery. We have an eternal need for gold. Non-pirates earn this like ametuers slaving away their entire lives. But pirates,” Hook grinned, showing his shark-like teeth, “pirates steal. The local Indian tribe, led by Tiger Lily, has an excess of gold. Take it.”

               “How?” John asked. “There’s so many of them!” Hook raised a dark arch of an eyebrow. “Figure it out.”

 


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The Sparrow’s Burden

 

Peter Pan gathered the lost boys. They flew around him in a frantic spiral of grief and rage. They performed the war dance that they had performed for eons. Slightly wailed, “what just happened?”

All the Lost Boy’s cried, their eyes full of tears. They were filled with blind fury and betrayal. They did not understand how John could do that, after all the adventures they’d had. My God. John Darling was now a pirate and he’d killed Cubby!

Peter slammed the handle of his dagger against the gong. “SIlENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNCCCCE!” The Lost Boys stilled, astounded by the raw anger and pain they heard in their leader’s voice. They had never heard Peter like that before. Peter was filled with a white stabbing pain. He had failed Cubby. He had failed as a leader. But he could redeem himself. “REVENGE. We need to avenge our brother and kill the Darling!” A roar filled the den as the Lost Boys agreed with Peter’s plan.

Nibs, the quiet rabbit, stepped forward. “John was our friend once. And Cubby should not have provoked him. Maybe John didn’t kill Cubby of his own free will?” The Twins stood on either side of Nibs and smacked his ears harshly. The Lost Boys all shouted him down until he retreated.

Peter stood before his Boys and planned. He needed to wait and watch. He needed evidence.

 

 

               John sobbed, curled up on the deck under the silver moonlight. This was the only place aboard the ship he’d managed to find privacy. The crew members were all in their bunks below decks, as were Captain Hook. He was alone. A constant replay he lay curled up on his bed roll.

               He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “How are you doing?” Smee inquired. John attempted to hide his tear-stained face from the man. “Fine.” Smee gazed at the boy in puzzled confusion. “We both know you’re not fine, John. Why lie?” John sniffled. “Pirates don’t cry.”

               Smee took the young boy in his arms and let him cry into his striped shirt. They stayed like that until morning as John confessed his part in the death of his brother Michael. Smee stayed quiet. He told him of the grisly fate that befell the murdering pirate who tossed the baby onto the coral. John was relieved that justice was served. John stirred in his arms, “thank you” he whispered, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.”

               Smee smiled knowingly. He pointed to the sky. “Do you see that sparrow? It struggles for survival each day. Yet it flies with perfect joy. See how it dives in the air, but it always manages to rise back up, flying even higher than where it fell.”

               The two men sat in the blue light of morning for a while, watching the birds.

 

The hot sun beamed overhead. Captain Hook stood proudly at the helm, “Attention, scallywags!” He bellowed, “It is the day you’ve all been waiting for, it’s the day for shore leave! You each get two hours to spend off the ship. You may do what you will with your time, but you must be sure to be back here before your time is up.” Half of the pirates aboard the ship were off by the time Hook finished his long explanation of shore leave. John was immediately caught up in the throng of excited pirates leaving the Jolly Roger and running to shore. John decided to take this moment to promenade the beach alone and to explore areas that he had not seen since he was a boy.

               He wandered the familiar white sandy beach, observing the auburn light of the sunset flickering over the rusty sea when he bumped into something. “Oi!” John jumped and turned around, facing a very young looking pirate. He had hooded chestnut orbs, and an ebony waterfall of black hair cascading down his face. His round face was in an angry scowl, “Watch where you’re going. There’s some rough characters on these beaches, you might anger one of them. I’m a captain and even I have to be careful.” Captain? It was then that John noticed the very large hat adorning his head. He looked rather young to be a captain. “I—uh—I’m…I’m…” The young face before him slowly turned into an amused grin, dimples appearing on the corners of his cheeks “haha, that’s alright lad,” he chortled, “Sir Captain Paulo MaCarthy of the Midnight Rose.”

               “John Darling. Nice to meet you,” John replied, remembering his manners. The two men shook hands. “You’re awfully young to be a captain!” John blurted out. He blushed at his own gruffness. This never happened before he became a pirate!

               Captain MaCarthy chuckled.  “I’m older than I look.” Paulo cocked his head to the side, eying John inquiringly. “Which ship do you serve?” “The Jolly Roger,” John replied.

               The captain looked out at the sea as he smiled. “Ah, you’re on Captain Hook’s crew! I knew him long ago. That was before he earned the name Hook, though. He still had both hands then.” Paulo laughed.

MaCarthy glanced at the long stretch of the golden beach before him. “Walk with me, John Darling.”

               John considered, he did not want to overstay he only had two hours off the ship and he needed to buy some things in the city but the desire to learn more about the mysterious pirate overcame his trepidations.

               As they strolled along, John asked, “How do you know Hook?” “We were shipmates and friends on our first pirate ship.” John stared at Paulo’s youthful face, lost in thought as he walked. Suddenly, his foot hit a rocky outcropping and he flew forward. The world went black as blood filled his vision.

 

               The first thing he saw when he woke up was Paulo’s face.

               “Wha- What happened?” John asked groggily. “You apparently found our conversation dull, so you took a nap. And you bashed your head in on a rock.” “What, where” John said.

               “You’re aboard my ship. The Midnight Rose. Hold still.” Paulo picked up a lemon from a bowl of fruit sitting on a nearby table. He cut it in half swiftly with his sword and pressed it to the gash in John’s forehead. John cried out, but Paulo persisted. “I’m cleaning the area before I bandage it. Stop moving.” He explained.

               John sat still as the strange captain finished dressing the wound. “Are you and Captain Hook still?” “Oh, we drifted apart. You know. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

               Paulo rose swiftly from his place across John, humming softly. He sat down, gracefully relaxed onto his bed. “So, tell me, how is it you joined Hook’s crew.” John stared in reverent awe at the young man sprawled across his bed. He was so noble, so honorable. He was the summit of being a gentleman and a pirate, the kind who appeared in John’s pirate tales which John kept hidden betwinxt his mattresses.

               John swallowed the hard lump in his throat. He answered, “I-I had nowhere else to go. My family, they did not understand, I’m a pirate now.”

               Paulo rose. He sashayed compassionately to John. He knelt before him and took his hands into his own gently. “It’s not your fault, John. Families never understand.” He cradled John’s hands to his breast like a babe and continued. “It’s always hard at first, but you’ll adjust. You’ll be even happier than before. You’re not alone.” John felt the hot, wet drops form more powerfully in his eyes. He lurched forward and into Paulo’s arms, resting his head on his shoulder. He cried like he never cried before. Paulo rubbed his back comfortingly, and supported his light weight and led him to the port-side window. “This vast, wild kingdom is yours now. Its creatures are your family, the waves your road, the salty wind is your lullaby. In all my travels I have found that to be the only truth. The ultimate truth. The sea is the only home a true soul such as yours, such as ours, needs. Tis the soul of a pirate.”

              

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The two men sat near each other, watching the morning sun rise. Paulo checked the bandages on John’s scalp, and proclaimed John healed. “you’re not bleeding anymore. You can return to the Jolly Roger when you’re ready . . . if you wish to. Hook must be worried about you.” John nodded. He felt happy and whole after his talk with Paulo and a night’s rest on Paulo’s couch.

Captain MaCarthy continued, “Or you can join my dscrew.” John stared at Paulo’s steely eyes in shock.

 

 

Slightly told Peter about what he’d seen cautiously, unsure of what reaction he would have. Peter was so unpredictable now.

Peter nodded coolly at this new information. He stood with purpose. “We must find out more about this “Captain Paulo MaCarthy” and his “Midnight Rose.”

 


	7. Chapter 6--The Red Midnight War

 

The Red Midnight War

              

John sat contemplating Paulo’s offer. Should he stay? Paulo was the only person who had been kind to him in years. But he pledged loyalty to Hook pirate or not John was a man of his word. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I pledged to Hook. I appreciate the offer.” Paulo looked at him in amused puzzlement. “Oh John, how admirable. True loyalty is hard to come by these days. But you must understand, Darling, that James Hook is not all he seems.” He said, patting John’s face.

“You know, we were ship mates once.” John gasped in amazement. “You… what? But he’s so old and you’re so young. How does that happen?” Paulo tipped his head back and laughed full-throatedly, exposing his stubble-covered neck. “Looks are deceiving, Johnny. But yes, we were close once. We were underlings on a vicious pirate ship. I thought I could trust Hook, but he betrayed me.” Tears welled in his dark, oaken orbs. John stared compassionately. “Look, I’m so sorry Paulo. But I am a man of my word.” Paulo inhaled raggedly. “It’s alright. I understand. You’d better go now. James will be waiting.”

Paulo escorted John to a dingy. “I really am sorry, Paulo.” John said apologetically as he climbed in. “It’s alright, lad.” He replied sadly with tears still in his hazel eyes. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, you become used to this. People leaving.” John sighed sadly. He liked the Jolly Roger. Everyone on board tolerated him and weren’t cruel to him at all. But with Paulo he felt different. He felt home. But he made a promise. What was he to do. “Paulo, I’ll think about it. I enjoy your company, but I can’t make this decision without counsel. You understand?” Paulo smirked at him. “Good. That would be good enough for me. Where are you headed exactly?” John looked out onto the sea. “Due south of Skull Rock.” Paulo leaned down to John’s level and pointed where he had to go, whispering with the quiet reassurance of a patient teacher instructing a wayward pupil. “Now off you go! And I do hope to see you again.”

John was lowered down into the sea and began rowing. He noticed the shark infested waters around him and rowed on, hurriedly, full of apprehension. He finally arrived at the Jolly Roger. “Ahoy!” He shouted up to the ship. “I’m back! I’m back!” He heard the crew members scramble about on the deck.

After he was pulled up to the deck of the ship, Smee ran to him and embraced him “We were so worried!” Just then, captain Hook stormed toward John and ripped Smee from him. “Where in blazes were you, boy?! We lost the morning tides because of you! If you can’t follow orders, you can’t be on my ship!” Just then Smee interrupted “It was his first shore leave, Cap’n. Go easy on him, please.” Hook did not acknowledge Smee’s request. He pinned John to the spot with his gaze. “Where were you, boy?” John swallowed nervously. He glanced around, eyes glassy with fear. “There was this other pirate, I got hurt. He helped me. I’m so sorry it won’t happen again sir.” Captain Hook snarled and grabbed John’s shirt collar. “Now you listen here, boy. We are pirates. You stay loyal to your crew and no one else. NO ONE is to be trusted. Is that understood?” John quivered. “Yes, captain.” Hook loosened his grip on John’s neck. “John, did you tell this other pirate anything? Anything about where we are stationed?” The color of John’s face drained from him. He knew it was wrong to lie, but feared what might happen if he told the truth. Besides, telling Paulo didn’t count. “No, sir.” Hook released his hold on him. “Good lad. Now we must set sail we lost valuable time with John’s little vacation.”

               The Pirate ship exploded with activity. The pirates all busied themselves, grabbing ropes and sails and braids. The crew put John to use quickly and John took to the physical task. He relished the salty breeze on his face and the Summer sun on his pirate stubble. He was excited to see a new place and see the world. This was a good day.

Smee pulled John aside. “Where were you really?” John looked at his hands. “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone.” He muttered. He met Smees’ eyes and confessed, “I was aboard the Midnight Rose. With Paulo MaCarthy. He’s a friend of Hook, so I thought it was okay!” Smee’s round face fell and he backed away from John, shaking his head. “You don’t know nothin’ John!”

John’s clenched his. He gritted his teeth. “Paulo was nice! He knows Hook! I didn’t do anything wrong!” Smee hung his head and sighed. “Jon, sometimes people aren’t what they seem. You can’t judge a sword by its sheath.” John looked in bemused puzzlement. “What do you mean?” Smee squatted into a sitting position and gestured for John to do the same. “A long time ago, the cap’n and Paulo were friends. Paulo did somethin’ awful and James told his captain. Paulo has sworn vengeance ever since what he did got him thrown of the Queen Anne’s Revenge.”

A strange wind floated across the open sea. Then, the ocean quivered gently before rumbling and shaking. John looked to the horizon and saw a distant outline of sharks.

John looked around at his crew in askance. Hook stood at the helm, face pale white. Then his jaw gripped in a tense anticipation. The lookout shouted, “Cap’n! Enemies off the port-“ before he could finish, a figure rose up the left side of the ship. Balanced precariously on the nose of a vicious looking shark. The sun shone behind him, making it difficult to make out the figure, but John felt something in the pit of his stomach…it was Paulo. Stretching his hand out to John.

Paulo was accompanied by two of his crew members. One was a tall, slender Asian American man who was heavily armed. The other was a small swarthy woman, scantily clothed and brandishing a bejeweled dagger. All three were ready for battle.

Paulo grinned madly, his shiny flat teeth revealed joylessly. “HOOOOOOK,” he bellowed across the ship, his hair tossing in the wind. “I have finally come for my revenge. I challenge you to a duel to the death!”

Hook stared steely eyed at Paulo and stalked majestically down the gangway. “Paulo. You look the same. Do you still cry during thunderstorms?” Paulo sauntered forward to meet Hook, smirking, hand on his rapier. “Hook. You look so much older. And you’ve grown. In the middle.”

Hook shucked off his overcoat, revealing surprisingly muscled arms. “You have no idea how I’ve grown, Paulo.” Paulo chuckled darkly, “Oh, James. After all these years and you still have that sort of…dramatic flare. Some things never change.” Hook snarled. “What do you want here, MaCarthy.” Paulo scanned the crew on the Jolly Roger and winked to John. “Just to talk, I wanted to catch up.” Paulo began to circle Hook and Smee predatorily, like a big cat stalking prey. “I have a proposition for you.” There was disgruntled mummer among the crew. Abraham, a brown-haired haggard former red coat and traitor to the English Empire, beyonette at the ready, inched forward not noticing the rope laying across the deck. He tripped, beyonette flying and hitting the ground, releasing a hot bullet from its lips. The bullet flew towards the dark woman from Paulo’s crew, scorching part of her dress. She looked up in a blind fury. She lunged toward Abraham, bejeweled dagger held aloft. She plunged the dagger into his heart, her battlecry accompanied by his screams of terror and pain.

That’s when it started.

The three crew members of the Midnight Rose exploded into action, attacking anyone in their path. The scene was an awful sight.

The other man with Paulo threw of his hat and slashed viciously stabbed at the nearest pirate. Smee.

“SMEE!” John screamed. Just as quickly as it started, it ended. Paulo and his crew leapt

 off the ship, and were taken away in a rowboat led by the sea sharks. Leaving behind the bloody ship.

John sprinted toward the center of what had been a horrendous battle, searching for Smee. Hook searched frantically among the dead, “Smee! Mr. Smee!” He called out desperate echoes answering back. When suddenly, he heard a weak whimper. “C-Cap’n.” Hook whirled around and knelt, horrified next to the body of his fallen companion, mouth agape. “Oh cap’n,” Smee spluttered out, blood bubbling from his mouth in a fine spray. “I’ve made a terrible mess.” Hook’s eyes brimmed with tears as he held his fallen friend. He had been spilled out over the deck of the ship. “Smee, I-I’m,” Smee smiled that sad, knowing smile before the light in his eyes was snuffed out. Smee was dead.

Hook howled mournfully at the crystal-hued sky hanging over them. He collapsed in sobs over what used to be Smee. John stood, helpless, crying as yet another person he loved left him forever.

 

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               The setting sun shone gracefully over the golden beach. Deep shadows cast their light over the solemn scene. The entire crew of the Jolly Roger was gathered around the small pyre for their friend. Smee was perched atop it, displayed lovingly.

               John’s eyes were red and swollen and his hands were still bleeding. The world was too cruel. Such an innocent soul taken from this earth in a violent act of hatred was a travesty unlike any other.

               Hook climbed atop the pyre and stroked the hair from Smee’s forehead and cradled him to his chest. “Goodnight, Mr.Smee.”he whispered inaudibly. “Goodnight.” He gently kissed Smee’s forehead one time more and stepped off the pyre. The gaunt Frenchman stepped forward, holding a torch. The pyre was lit and the crew watched as the fire spread over the small man sprawled over the wood.

               The men started to chant and sing their ancient funeral song in a language long forgotten.

_Chomh luath agus a thagann an oíche quieuit_ _Agus is é an talamh dorcha_ _Agus is é an ghealach an solas ach a fheicimid_ _Ní bheidh mé caoin ní bheidh mé caoin ní bheidh mé a chaillfidh a clib_ _Díreach chomh fada agus a sheasann tú, seasamh ag dom_ _Agus OH mo seastán stór stór seastán ag dom_ _Seas ag dom_ _Seas ag dom_

 

               The flames rose and engulfed the pier and John wept. He’d told Paulo where the Jolly Roger would be. If he’d stayed quiet, Smee would be alive. John was the reason that Smee was now bitter ash floating away on the wind. John stood apart from the rest of the crew and wept more.

 

               The moon was high in the sky and the stars glimmered mercilessly on John’s tears. The funeral was over now and they were aboard the Jolly Roger again. The deck had been swabbed, but the revenants of the battle still remained. John sat, huddled in the same spot Smee had comforted him. John huddled into a ball and screwed his eyes shut.

               “John.” He heard. “John, listen.” John glanced up and saw a sight he’d never expected to see again. Michael.

               Michael was pale and wet, drenched in water and streaks of the blood John remembered so well. “John, what have you become?” John rose to his feet and took a tentative step toward his brother. “Michael? You . . . you’re dead!”

               Michael nodded sadly. “Because you failed.” John stumbled back. “What?!” he exclaimed. “And now look what you have become. A sub-human sinning murderer. You have killed so many men!”

               John started to cry, thick, fat drops rolling down his face. “Brother,” he whispered, stretching his arms out to Michael.

               Michael’s face became a mask of hideous fury and his voice deepened. “LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!” he screamed, throwing the tattered bear he’d loved so dearly at John’s face. John caught it, but as he touched the beloved toy, it slowly morphed into something horrible. Cubby, dead. His body was rotting and crawling with insects. John stumbled back into the mast and the world faded to black.

               John awoke to the weak sun filtering into his bunk and John curled up and sobbed.

 


	8. Chapter 7--Kingdoms Fall, Kingdoms Rise

AN: Hey guys! Thanks for reading! I appreciate it so much. In the future could you please put a spoiler alert before reviewing chapters? Your readership and comments mean a lot to me but I just don’t want people who might read comments before reading the story to be spoiled. 

Kingdoms Fall, Kingdoms Rise

AN: This is just a fun little chapter I whipped up while I work on John’s story to give us a break. Hope you like it! ;) <3

 

Peter and the Lost Boys scouted the island for days following the movements of the pirates. On   
the morning that John left Paulo and the Midnight Rose, Slightly followed John in the little rowboat that   
carried him home to The Jolly Roger and Captain Hook. Slightly ran swiftly through the jungle tracking   
John. Peter flew overhead circling the perimeter. Slightly ran back and forth as the twins trailed him,   
holding the fox tail flowing behind their young second commander. “When will-“ “-we get there?” “SH!   
Quiet!” Slightly ordered. Nibs scooted up to Slightly, almost running into him, their noses touching.   
“Hey!” Slightly yelled, swatting Nib’s nose, “what’s the matter with you?”   
He gasped. “He he he he heh” Nibs panted exhaustedly, having just run very far. “I found him!” he exclaimed, breathing hard.  
The group imploded with activity at this announcement. “Follow me.” He said. He scampered to the shore.   
“He breathes a lot.” Toodles murmured. The Boys and Pan trailed after him, their usual pranks and songs dimed by all the tragedy.   
Nibs pointed to the sea, and they saw a great black ship, silhouetted by the early morning sn. They could make out the figure of a strange man they didn’t recognize and a boy . . . JohnDarling. John was speaking with the man and gesturing wildly as he mounted a small boat. The Lost Boys gasped as John rowed wildly off. “We’re going to lose him!” Slightly cried.   
Peter screamed at him. “You’re the fastest. Follow him!!!” Slightly leapt into action, running swiftly along the shore, hiding himself in the jungled brush. He peered out above the line of the bush. “I see him! He’s being lifted aboard! What should we do, sir?” Slightly held his gaze in John’s direction awaiting orders from his esteemed leader. No response came. “Sir?” Slightly asked again as he turned slowly only to meet Peter’s desolate stare. His youthful face looked aged and tired. “Stand down.” The Lost Boys stood amazed. What was happening? Peter never gave up. Not Peter. Pan was their fearless leader! He never shrank from a challenge! “Sir, what do you mean?! You never give up!” Nibs piped up, looming over him threateningly, like a hawk over a baby lamb, arms poised ready to strike. “I SAID STAND DOWN!” The boys sat in stunned silence. Peter stalked off back in the direction of the campsite.   
Peter stormed angrily back to his den, his face fuming with rage. He couldn’t win this fight. He felt it in his gut. Tinkerbell, his trusted friend who was always there when he needed her, floated down delicately in front of him. “Out of my way, Tink.” Peter ordered sullenly tears spilling from his forest green orbs. Tinkerbell spoke to him, comfortingly but sternly. “I can’t. You don’t understand, it’s over. I’m never going to get John alone. He’s always going to be surrounded by his new crew. Face it, it’s over. Cubby will go unavenged.” Tinkerbell dragged Peter to the mirror and tinkled curtly at him. She made him face his reflection.   
.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The Lost Boys trudged back into camp, heavy with defeat and sorrow. They had failed to revenge their fallen brother. His murderer roamed free and happy while they vigorously mourned each new night. One of the Twins combusted. “We’ve accomplished nothing!” he howled. His fists jflailed fruitlessly, flying at the tree trunk .The other one spoke quietly to him, too quiet to be heard.   
“Where’s Peter?” Nibs asked. Toodles rolled his eyes and shoved Nibs out of the way. Pinned to the bear flap entering Peter’s den was a note and the distinctive feather that so long adorned Peter’s trademark cap:  
“I’m leaving. There is nothing left for me here after I have proved myself unworthy to be a leader and elder brother to you. I have returned to my birthplace: London. Take care of each other,  
Peter”  
The lost boys stood in shocked sadness as the note drifted sadly towards the floor. Peter was gone. As the note hit the floor the small hand. The eldest twin held the note aloft above his head triumphantly. “This means that I’M the leader now!” Slightly grabbed the note and threw the twin down. “You idiot, you know this means that I’m the leader, I’m second in command!” A violent extermination of peace rained down among the Lost Boys. Nibs rose, bloody arms raised. “QUIET!” The ruckus ceased. They all craned their heads towards Nibs. “Is this what Peter would want? Is this what Cubby would’ve wanted? And what do you think Wendy would say if she could see us now?! We need to stick to each other, more than ever. Slightly is second in command. It’s only fair that He should take His rightful place above us.” Slightly rose gratefully. Nibs bowed and handed Pan’s staff to him. “You’re the Pan now.”


	9. Chapter 8--The Depths of the Blue Ocean

AN: Trigger Warning Swearing. I’m so sorry guys. It was necessary for the story and characters. If you want to avoid it, it’s the last sentence of the chapter. <3

 

The Depths of the Blue Ocean

 

 

                Wet salty tears flowed down John’s cheeks. He sat on the beach, hidden from the camp. They were all clustered around a bonfire, solemnly drinking spirits and rum, hushed conversations echoing over the sea. He snuffled and wiped his cheeks. The others would not see him cry. He rose to approach the group, lit by the dim copper flames. He gruffly approached one of the crew members—the Frenchman—and held out his hand for the bottle of rum. He swigged it heartily as he returned to his rock. John stared at the night sky and knew that Smee would never comfort him again. And it was his fault. If he hadn’t told Paulo . . . John took another drink. The stars were blurry.

                He heard a groan. A pirate sat by the fire, holding his bleeding body together. John stood shakily, quivering with drunken grief. The dark woman with Paulo had broken off her dagger in the middle of his chest. He was dying. John scrambled around on long uneasy legs searching for what he knew would save the man. He patted his pockets frantically until he found it. He remembered that Paulo had used it to heal his wound when he first met him. Maybe it could do the same for his injured shipmate. John knelt down in front of the injured pirate, and met his desperate gaze. John cut open his shirt and pressed the lemon to his chest. The pirate let out a loud hiss of pain. “What are you doing?!” He roared at him through clenched teeth. “I’m saving you. I know it hurts but trust me.”

Hook storned over, eyes swimming with tears and anger. He kicked John down. John rolled over the sandy beach, curled into a ball.“ Would you please be quiet, boy!” John fell back with a sharp, hard grunt, half of the lemon tumbling out of his limp hand. Hook’s face consorted into a steaming rage. “Get. Out.” He mumbled loudly. John stared in shock at the captain looming over him. Hook kicked him hard in his ribs. “Away! I know where you learned that trick. Paulo’s healing trick. Twas Paulo, you WORM. THAT’s WHO YOU TOLD. You’re a traitor!! SMEE IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU! ET OUT AND AWAY FROM ME YOU BILGE RAT!!!!!” Hook kicked John, whimpering, to his feet.

The once injured pirate rose to his feet, cured. He spit a thin stream of spit, flecked with red blood and mucus.

 The crew, once jovial, turned away in disgust. One man kicked a tumescent cloud of sand at John in a delicate, swirling cloud of disgust and anger. Hook threw his hand out to the ship in a wide gesturing arc. “We will see if you are worth redeeming . . . or not.” A cry started up amongst the crew. “A trial! A trial for the traitor!”

 

John sat, surrounded by well-bladed pirates, on the Jolly Roger. His hands were shackled behind his back. He could hear small tinkles and clinks as he shifted restlessly. They made him think of his vision of Michael. The clinks Michael had made with his shackles. Was this how little Michael felt as he fell into the unforgiving arms of the ocean reef? A knot filled his stomach.

Hook stood at the head of the ship. "How do you confess to the crimes of traitorism and fraternizing with enemies?" "I didn't do it!" John cried. "We'll see about that." Hook chuckled.

“Witnesses!” he called, a sharp dagger’s edge of thrill in his tenor. John’s eyes flicked franticly over the gathered crowd, searching for an ally. The young pirate he shared a bunk with walked to the center. “Benedict. What do you have to say in defense of John Darling?” the boy looked up at Hook and . . . winked? “Nothing.” He said. A murmer rose among the crew. “Nothing?” Hook asked. “Nothing.” Benedict replied. “Every word of the accused crimes is true.  He is guilty.”

“Go on.” He ordered. Benedict sighed. “Things have been terrible since the Darling boy started sharing a bunk with me. The rats are now teeming on the ship. I saw a two-headed seagull born yesterday. He keeps strange hours and makes alien noises when he does sleep. In the night, I can smell the foul odors of hell, when he consorts with the Flying Dutch man. He is no loyal pirate.”

Hook appraised the crew. “Anyone else?” he asked. The pirate he’d cured stepped forward. “A! And what do you have to say, Judas?” Hook called. Judas stepped, forward convulsively. He glanced at John, the Hook, squinting introspectively. He raised his eyes to the sky and cried out in a long, piercing wail.

“The boy . . . I was injured and about to meet my Gods. But then the boy stepped I and worked dark magics, forbidden ones, against me. He bound me to my body against my will! I’d rather be dead. He must pay for what he’s done. He must repay what he stole. Make him atone for the blood of Smee! Plank him!!!”

He ejaculated a small ball of spit onto John’s cheek.

His face was tired, but a glint of satisfaction shone in his azure windows, through which his evilness and wicked thoughts could at last be seen. John’s growing sense of trust in the man withered and was cut off by the look in the enraged franticness of the captain’s eyes. This is what it meant to be a pirate. He was happy to avenge his friend, happy to shed John's blood as the crew chanted ‘To the Plank!’ in an excited, frenzied uproar. John stood, eyes wide with terror. A lamb among a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. "What will it be?" he screamed. "Trial by combat? Or the Plank?" John stood on the makeshift dock, gazing in desperation for one that would help him.

John trembled. He would die either way.

 He could not fight and he could not swim. At least with the plank he wouldn't give Captain Hook the satisfaction of shedding his blood. He swallowed, "the plank." The crew erupted and John detected a hint of disappointment in James Hook's eyes. They herded him to the edge. John held his head up with dignity. An English man never begs, after all. That’s what his father always told him. Two burly pirates held him by his silently quacking arms as a skinny old and withered female pirate that John had never seen before approached him, chanting softly; _Eens op 'n tyd Ek is val in die liefde Maar nou is ek net val uitmekaar Daar is niks wat ek kan doen'N Totaal verduistering van die hart._ She chanted this repeatedly as the other pirates hummed in harmony. She was holding a plank of wood covered in blood. Smee’s blood. She painted the life force of his once dear friend across both of his cheeks and his foreheads. The faint smell of rust filled his nostrils as he strode upon the plank, as dignified as he could be. _‘Would father be proud of me now?’_ he wondered.

John glided, shaking. The plank, rotted and weathered, lay before him. Waiting. He whirled around for one final plea. “Please! I can’t even swim.” The crew chuckled, hungry for blood. “Aye! That’s the point boy!” John slowly walked to the end to face his doom and death. Just before he looked back into the cold, relentless waters below, he saw Hook give Judas and Benedict money. He bribed them? It was too late to do anything about it now. No one would listen. He stared into the crystal waters and panted, but he felt a solid shove topple him into the deep.

 

He sank, past the salty swirls, deep until his chest felt solid. Just as the world went black, he saw a flash of scales and hair. A mermaid! She grabbed his arms and hauled him behind her, swimming with powerful flicks of her turquoise tail. Just as he began to breathe in the sea from desperation, she reached air. John filled his lungs, coughing and spluttering. They were in a small grotto, the sun filtering through the open roof.

He turned to the fish woman.  “Thank you!” He exclaimed. She smiled. “Well, I can’t have you dying on my front porch.” They laughed, relieved to be alive.

“I saw the whole thing that happened up there, John. That was awful.” John shrank into his shell. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Very well.” The sea-girl replied. “My name is Ariana. What’s yours?” “Darling. John Darling.” He told her.

She gasped. “I remember hearing about you. Your poor brother.” John retracted further. She touched his arm. “I lost my big sister when I was a little girl. I know how you feel. You’re not alone. I heard you went back to London. What happened to bring you back here?”

John told her about the years he’d spent away from Neverland in a voice smooth as satin and cold as iron. Then Ariana told him about her mermaid youth. By the end, John had relaxed and was laughing at Ariana’s story of her pet one-finned tuna eating out of the trash and swimming away in circles.

Her face became serious. “What do you want to do? You can’t live in this cold, damp cave. And I live underwater." John thought for a moment before answering, iron in resolve. “I have to return to the Jolly Roger.”

“John, no! They tried to kill you!” “But I survived their little ’test’. It’s the only place for me. I’m a pirate and a pirate needs his ship.” John stood. “Take me back.”

 

 

John slept an uneasy, wet sleep among Ariana’s moss. As Morpheus carried him further into his dream he felt a sudden dry heat. He beheld before him a hideous sight.

Smee. He was chained ‘round the neck, wrists, arms, legs, and feet. Fire licked at his limbs and his plump, once cherubic face was contorted in agony. He cried out, “John! Oh John. Why did you do this to me?”

John reeled back in horror. “I . . .” His face set in a determined scowl. He was finished with this. “I didn’t do anything. You were killed because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Smee looked at John sagely and with pity. “John, is your anger worth it? I died because of your selfishness. I died because you could have saved me. Your selfishness will ensure your eternal damnation.” John smirked angrily, “I was only defending myself. I was looking out for me. That’s what pirates do after all, isn’t it?” Smee shook his heads sadly. “What happened to the sweet, caring boy that I knew so long ago?” John puffed out his chest with pride, anger, and a bit of divine indignation. “He’s gone. He died when he went into the ocean water to pay for a crime he didn’t commit. He’s only going to look out for the one person who has been there for him; himself.” Smee shook his head, tears falling onto his shackled body. “I will only say this, John Darling. A pirate’s life is not the right path. I hope you realize your mistake one day. And I hope you learn from it.” John shook off Smee’s hand. “All I did was trust too quickly. I won’t make that mistake again, but this fire is your own damn fault.”

 


	10. Chapter 9--As the Sparrow Falls, So he Ascends

 As The Sparrow Falls, So He Ascends 

 

  
              John woke the next day feeling refreshed and invigorated. He had never felt like this before! So bold, so fearless. His phantasmagoric conversation with Smee’s visage lingered in his mind like the smell of smoke in the air. He walked briskly, head held high and chin raised to the crowds to where Arianna was sleeping. “Hey! Wake up!” He barked quietly. “I’m ready.”  Arianna rose up suddenly, in shock.   
“Ready?” She inquired, confused at the sudden order from John. “I’m ready for you to make me into a pirate. You said you’d help me.” She solemnly placed a sword in his hands. She put him to the test. 

He learned the intricate dance of swordsmanship. She taught him to parry, how to counter a blow, He learned how to move his feet in time to counter his opponent. 

“One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, thee” Arianna called from the sea. Her arms were crossed across her chest and a smirk played across her voluptuous lips. “Oh John. You’re the best beginner I’ve ever seen! Are you sure this is the first time you’ve taken to mastering the sword?” John nodded smugly. Ariana rose up out of the water, beckoning John to come forward. He did, slowly, almost in a trance, his legs fighting him all the way. He gazed deeply into Ariana’s sea green eyes, calling to him. He approached and leaned down towards her, eyes half closed. _Whack!_ A slender arm hurled itself towards his stubbled face with surprising strength and force.John reeled back in shock holding his cheek, his eyes began to water. “Don’t cry. If you are going to be a pirate you must get used to pain, or Hook will show you no mercy. Nor will any other scurvy dog you meet.” John stood again, sucking the tears back into his eyes.

Arianna smiled gently and slapped him again. John’s head flung to the side. He brought it up slowly and pointed his sword at Ariana. She looked back in shock until she noticed the playful and wily smirk creep across John’s face and smiled back at him, “Very good,” she said as she gently moved the blade aside, “like a true pirate.”

John slept on his mossy bed, a smile playing on his face. For once he felt pride swell within him. He was becoming his true being, who he was meant to be. He heard a gentle haunting singing near him. _Im 'yn hwylio ymaith , yn gosod cwrs agored ar gyfer y môr forwyn_

 _Mae gen i fod yn rhydd , yn rhydd i wynebu'r fywyd dyna o fy mlaen Ar fwrdd , fi yw'r capten , felly dringo ar fwrddByddwn yn chwilio am yfory ar bob lan A byddaf yn ceisio , oh Arglwydd , byddaf yn ceisio i barhau._ He walked slowly towards the voice. He saw Arianna sitting upon a rock looking out over the sea. “It’s beautiful.” He whispered. She looked down in flattered embarrassment. “All mermaids are taught to sing. It is our way.” He sat down next to her rock and listened to her tell him more the customs of her people and watched with adoration as her eyes lit up with emotion. He felt his heart of grow for her.

 

            Upon the sunrise, John and Arianna woke together, side by side. They spotted together a distant ship sailing across the horizon: The Roger. John knew it was time say goodbye to Arianna. He turned to his sweet fish woman who had become his friend, and so much more. Arianna knew it too. Before John knew what had come over him, he had taken Arianna in his arms, his mouth enveloping hers. Their tongues fought and meshed for dominance as their teeth bumped and ground together in a bittersweet collision John bit into her lip eliciting a soft groan from the beautiful sea nymph the moisture of their passion melded and lingered between them as they pulled apart gazing into each others eyes. Sweet salty tears ran down Arianna’s face, “John, I-“ John smiled his knowing crooked smile touched her cheek and whispered “I know, love.” They ventured into the sea together.

 

High up in the hills of the island where they thought no one could see them, a pair of eyes watched from the bushes, a sinister smile tugging at the corners of mouth. Paulo.

 

When they reached the ship, Ariana swept John up into her arms and he chuckled as he felt a fin tickle his foot. They stayed in the water, holding each other close and almost becoming one. As they parted reluctantly, Arianna gave him a whistle made from a seashell. “Blow this if you ever need me.” She kissed his cheek and smiled. “You know how whistle, don’t you? You just pucker up your lips and blow.” She said with a sly smirk. She let go of his hand slowly, leaving her parting gift in his palm as she swam away with John looking on in wonder, unable to stop smiling.

John hanged the shell around his neck and climbed aboard the Jolly Roger. The crew leapt back in horror as John, assumed dead, climbed wet and dripping onto the ship. Mutters struck up. “He’s alive!” “But still a traitor.” “He spent so long in the water! He shouldn’t be alive.” Finally, Hook strolled forward on thin, weedy legs. “You’re still a traitor, boy, but I’m obligated not to kill you. Count your lucky stars, John.” The crew turned away from him as one. No one said a thing to him. John grabbed a bucket and began to mop in silence, alone.

He was still the most hated crew member on the ship. He was alone. So alone. 

But just then his solitude was interrupted by light flutter on his hand. He slowly turned his head, feeling the burdensome weight of his emptiness and desolation, only to find his gaze land on his new companion. A sparrow landed on John's wrist, stopping its busy day to greet him, a brother of the universe. It cocked its tiny head to one side and stared deep into John's eyes, like it knew him. Just as quickly as it had visited him, it flew away into the setting sun, swooping and rising with great grace. He felt his eyes burn with tears but he didn’t let them fall. He was a true pirate now, and pirates never cry.

 


	11. Every Rose . . .

Every Rose…   
John slept alone on the deck as he had all those months ago while the rest of the pirates slept below and the captain slept in his private quarters. He lay curled on his side, the memory of Ariana plaguing his mind. Her smile, the way her lips felt entangled in his, the way she chuckled against his mouth as he bit her lower lip. These thoughts gave him solace. His ponderings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps heading toward him.   
He stiffened, trying to pretend to sleep, waiting for the footsteps to stop and kick him, to bark an order. No such thing had occurred. He turned slowly to see Hook, standing on the edge of the ship, perched precariously on the railing holding a spyglass, large end pressed against his eye. He was searching for something. What it was, he could only guess. He approached tentatively to where he was standing and moved his hand to tap on his shoulder.  
“Wait.” A gruff hand whispered as it held John’s arm back. “Leave him be, lad. Hobbs tried last night and was thrown overboard to the sharks.” John blinked in surprise, leaning away from the fowl breath of the voice the hand belonged to. It was Bruce. A large pirate with one eye, wearing only a purple bandana and an earring which hung from his ripped ear, tattoos cascading down his arms. “What is he doing?” Bruce took John by the shoulder and led him away. “Searching.” John gazed back in puzzlement.   
“He is coming. Should be any day.” Hook said suddenly from his sentry. His eyes didn’t falter. “Smee is on his way back. I can see him now!” Bruce sighed sadly. “He hasn’t been the same since Smee died.” Hook tried to turn around to yell at Bruce when his steps faltered. John rushed over to catch his captain, as his namesake scratched the side of his face. John winced in pain and held on to the squirming captain as he lowered him safely onto the deck.   
“E tu, John?” John looked back in confusion. The captain clutched his stomach and collapsed. Hook thought he had been stabbed and laid on the floor in defeat. “Leave him there, laddie. He’ll come to his senses soon enough and go back to bed. Don’t let him know you saw him like this.” Bruce put a brotherly hand on John’s shoulder reassuringly and returned to his quarters below. Hook suddenly grabbed the sides of John’s face. His eyes penetrated and searched John and Hook murmured, “We’re gonna get a place. We’re gonna live off the fat of the land.” John gently freed himself. Hook started to laugh and tears streamed down his face. He suddenly became serious, and with the earnest enquiry of a child asking about Father Christmas he asked, “tell me about the rabbits, John? Tell me how it’s gonna be?” John fled to the other end of the ship, but Hook’s laughter followed him.  
.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.  
John sat on the fence, gazing across the sea, pondering the altered state of his sea captain. Hook sat across the ship, a small artist’s paintbrush in his hand. He dipped into the glass of milk that Bruce had given him, and swept it across the fence.   
A touch whispered across his whiskered neck and he was yanked to the sand. A grinning cherubic face leaned over him, pinning him to the sand, hand over his mouth. Paulo was her.   
As soon as John realized who he was, he gasped. “Paulo!” went his muffled voice. Paulo put a finger to his lips, shushing him soothingly, “Come with me.” He whispered, his gravelly voice as his lightly whiskered cheek rubbed against John’s bare ear, leaving it red and throbbing. John looked around, only to find Hook still brushing the rails and the crew trying to talk sense back into their captain. How to make cinnamon sugar toast in the oven. Paulo grabbed John’s hand and took him to his ship. They climbed aboard and made their way to Paulo’s cabin. John sat himself on Paulo’s hammock and watched as Paulo shut the cabin door, fluidly. “Hello, boy.” Paulo said, his gravelly voice speaking in a low growl. I’ve been waiting for you to come visit me, but you never came. I missed you.” John kept his head up straight, trying to remain defiant under the gaze of Paulo’s piercing, deep brown eyes. “Well… I don’t take company with murderous fiends is all.” Paulo swept gracefully toward John, kneeling before him. “John, I’m sorry for what I did. I never meant to hurt you, but understand sometimes people get in the way.” John’s defiance wavered, tears streamed down his face. Paulo gave John a sad, crooked smile and put his hand on John’s cheek. “I’m sorry I made you angry. I’m sorry I took someone away from you that you held dear. It was only meant to hurt Hook. But that so called ‘captain’ you’re so loyal to has hurt me in ways you could only imaginge.  
Doubtless you have been told his story of how we drifted apart. But you have yet to hear the whole truth.” Paulo moved to sit beside John, putting a protective arm around his shoulders. “At the time I knew James, we were serving under Blackbeard, you know this. Well, at that time my mother was very sick. We had just taken a cargo ship that was full of riches and I had taken more of my share to help my mother.”  
John patted the tears off his face with his sleeve. Paulo continued, “When Captain Blackbeard noticed that that share of the treasure was taken, he offered a prize to any pirate willing to pay the price.” “What?” Jon inquired.   
“The position of first mate to the crew member whom revealed to him the thief. Within the day, Hook was Hook’s first mate and I was marooned.” John gasped. “How could he? He exhaled. Paulo sadly shook his head and patted John’s knee. “Oh, to be so young and naïve. Do me a favor and stay like this forever.”   
John sat. “Paulo, I know I shouldn’t tell you this . . . “ Paulo gripped his hand and solemonly met his eyes deeply. “Paulo, I know Hook will be on skull rock at midnight tomorrow. He isn’t doing well and he has been weakened.”  
Paulo’s’ eyes twinkled with excitement, and kissed both of John’s cheeks, a la Européen. John was lifted in a great hug as he was spun around in Paulo’s comforting arms.   
.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.  
John slowly crept toward the sleeping Captain Hook. Hook was curled up in a small ball, clothed in only a nightdress. He grabbed the sleeping man’s shoulder and Hook came awake with a start. The captain glared at John’s face, not recognizing him. He jerked and a light came on in his eyes. “John! What are you doing here? Did you have a nightmare again?”   
“Paulo has challenged you to a duel on Skull Rock tonight. He said if you don’t fight him, he’ll kill us all.”  
Hook rose from his bed, donning his sword and hat swiftly. “Don’t fear. I shall protect you, my poor bastard.” Hook rushed out of his cabin, leaping onto skull rock. “Paulo! Paulo, come out and fight me like a man!” Silence answered his calls. Suddenly the Midnight Rose came upon the rock. Paulo hiked his way toward Hook. “HooK!” Paulo growled excitedly, flashing him a toothy grin. “I was hoping to meet you here, old friend.” “Were you indeed, old sport?”

Hook brandished his sword at Paulo. Paulo charged toward Hook, their blades crashing and feet moving in a dance. The dance of knives, the dance of death. Hook blocked Paulo with the expertise of a skilled swordsman as Paulo went down on him, his sword clanging with the force of all the pent up passion and anger hidden inside him. The twinkling stars were slowly swallowed by the creeping red sky. Dawn was approaching, and still the two advisories fought on. As the sun began to shone overhead the two pirates, weary with fighting, slowed. Their footfalls became less graceful and more stumbly. 

Hook disarmed the man he once held dear. The slender sword landed only feet away from John’s boots. Paulo scrambled frantically and reached out his barren palm, “John! Hand the sword here!” John picked up the sword. The realization that he was holding the sword of a captain lit a fire in his belly and the taste of copper filled his mouth. He smirked, “No.” he purred. Paulo’s cherubic face contorted in a way he had never seen before, he growled angrily and motioned for his first mate. He was carrying something that John couldn’t quite make out. “See this, boy?” Paulo boomed as he held the thing aloft, “This is what happens to those who cross me!” Paulo hurled the object toward John. He gasped and fell to his knees. It was Arianna’s head, severed from her lovely body. John’s eyes burned with tears of anger as Paulo took the sword from his first mate. He charged toward John, screaming. Suddenly Hook rose from where he was resting and leaped in front of John, guarding him from Paulo’s cold steel. Suddenly, before John could blink, Paulo had penetrated Hook, and Hook had stabbed Paulo. They were locked together in a fatal embrace.

They fell apart. Hook collapsing, clutching his bleeding chest. He lay dying on the cold hard ground.   
Paulo stumbled away. As he approached the edge of the cliff, his crew members rushed to tend to him. But it was too late. He fell over the edge and a sickening thump sounded from the shore.   
John gathered what there was of Ariana in his arms. He gently closed her sea-blue eyes and kissed the lids tenderly. “Goodbye, Ariana.” He whispered to her skin. The deceased sea woman had a look of peace on her face. He gave her one last kiss and gently wrapped her in his jacket. He cradled it and walked to the edge before sending her off to her home—the sea. A legion of arms rose from the depths to gingerly pull her beneath the waves. John stood until he could no longer see her anymore. 

“John . . . “ came the wet rattle of Hook. “Jooohn.” John slowly strode toward Captain James Hook’s bleeding form, his eyes dry and numb. James grabbed the front of his shirt desperately, pulling him close. “I missed you, son. I missed your youth, I didn’t get to see you grow. But I had to leave. I’m sorry. But your mother was never truly mine.” John lifted away Hook’s hand. “No, it’s me, John Darling.” The dying captain gently cradled his face in his calloused hand. “You have my eyes, my hair, my child.” John stood, baffled. “You look so like your mother, John.” John stood aghast. “No, I have my father’s eyes, his hair, I’m sorry but you’re mistaken.” Hook gave a weak smile, then he started to cough and splutter, tears streaming down his face. He started humming, humming a melody that haunted its way into John’s memory. “That song… I know that song.” Hook smiled, “I sang it to you, Johnny boy. I sang it to you in your cradle. I would visit your nursery window at night. As is tradition.” John began to weep again. “I don’t know if anyone told you, but I am your father. I always hoped that if… if you ever wanted a home. A different home, you’d live with me. But I suppose it doesn’t matter now.” Hook coughed out, blood spurting from his lips. “Goodbye, my sweet child.” Hook’s ragged breathing and groaning in pain continued. “Father, I’m sorry.” John whispered sadly. He wanted to put is father out of his misery. He swiftly grabbed a pair of rocks and struck them together until they produced a blue spark, which he brought to James’s body. “I’m so sorry.” he murmured. “I never meant it to end this way.” As the multicolored flames spread, consuming the mysterious pirate, silent sobs wracked his growing body and he sang the song that haunted him throughout his youth, Johnny boy, Johnny boy, ocean child calls me. So I sing the song of love, my Johnny Boy… He wandered away from the pyre where his father lay and continued his sad siren song; Johnny Boy, sea shell eyes, windy smile, calls me. So I sing the song of love, for Johnny Boy… 

Suddenly he heard canyon fire in the distance. He stopped his song and rushed toward it. He found Paulo laying on the beach, a walrus thrusting his tusks into his paralyzed legs, Paulo was unable to feel the pain. “John. John Darling, there you are.” John held his chin up. “Paulo.” Paulo smirked up at him. “Pretty bad, eh?” He chuckled. “I guess I got what I deserved didn’t I? A pirate’s death.” John felt his anger melt away. “You deserve better, Paulo.” He stomped over and booted the walrus away from Paulo, and dragged him farther up the beach. Paulo suddenly grabbed John’s arm, “John, you’ve been a great friend. I am sorry for everything.” John kneeled down, “Paulo of course I forgive you. I have one question though, was Hook telling the truth? Did you know?” Paulo gave that mischievous grin that had always been his trademark, “what?” and with one last rattling breath, Paulo was dead. 

John climbed aboard the abandoned ship and headed north, pondering what Hook had told him. “Oh captain, my captain” he muttered under his breath, a smirk playing on his lips as he sailed toward home. Was he really the son of the infamous James Hook? Or was this the childish wish to have the loving father that he didn’t have at home? He did always enjoy playing at pirates with his brother, Michael. He did always want to play the part of the dastardly Captain in their games… he shook himself. “Nonsense. Childish nonsense.” He chuckled to himself. How much like Wendy he was sounding. How much like his father back home. Perhaps he had grown up after all. He gave one last look at skull rock, only to discover something far too shocking to be real… Paulo was gone.


	12. …Has It's Thorn

…Has It's Thorn

Wendy and Beauregard Haversham walked arm-in arm, bodies separarted and stiff. Wendy gazed into the face of her husband for the past two years, remembering the infatuation that had bloomed in when they met, but died so slowly and painfully. His face once seemed so handsome, but now it was grizzled and lined. She played with her fluffy white muff and walked along the cobbled gray street. Her face had changed too. She had grown gaunt, her cheekbones low and sunken. She hadn't been able to hide her terrible temper from Beauregard, and he had been unable to hide his distaste for her. They walked past a park bench holding what appeared to be a pile of rags. the rags stirred, revealing themselves to be an ancient beggar, holding a bottled of liqueur. He started laughing maniacally when he saw Wendy. He grabbed her hand.  
"Wendy! It's been too long! So long since you came to Neverland . . . " Wendy stared blankly at his face until she saw the ghost of a boy she knew long ago. Peter Pan.He was still laughing. "I came to London. I came here! I . . . I . . . The years caught up with me." Beauregard grabbed Wendy's arm and pulled her back from the old man on the bench. "Wendy, do you know this . . . this person?" Wendy stared at Peter, who was now crying tears. "I used to." she replied quietly. Peter couched wetly and fell off the bench. He sat on the ground, shaking. "Wendy, I have something for you." he said weakly. "a kiss." He threw a rusted thimble at her feet.  
Beauregard jerked Wendy off the sidewalk and grabbed her shoulders. "You've. . . you've consorted with this person and you never thought fit to reveal this to me?" he spat. Tears streamed down her face and she glanced at the ruin of her childhood friend. He was panting and a singled sigh escaped him as his body stilled forever. He was dead. Wendy could see her tear-streaked face in the reflection of Peter's kiss, gently spinning on the pavement.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

John sat in a dinghy London bar. His arm was on the table, and a burly sailor was inking his wrist. A tattoo to remember his triumph. He took a drink of rum and idly listened to a conversation about the Ripper. He wrinkled his nose in amused pain as he felt the needle dig into his wrist. He flicked his shilling at the sailor, who decorated his wrist. The coin hit him playfully on his eyepatch, eliciting a scowl, and then a playful smirk from the sailor. John returned the gesture and swaggered out of the bar. His head floating, the world spinning. He felt on top of it all. He was the master of his destiny now.  
He walked with aplomb down the cobblestoned streets of Liverpool, London. "Paulo's birthplace!" He remembered with a fond smile and an ache in his chest. As he wandered through the city streets, gazing at the buildings, homes, and cavernous opium den, he passed into White Castle. A new name playing on his mind. A pirate's name. As the night grew ever present he searched for the one place he was always welcome. Home.  
He strutted down the familiar lamplit streets of London when he came across the teal abode of the Darling family. The dilapidated dog house a shambles in the front yard. The grass overgrown. John was filled with panic and apprehension. "What happened here?!" He wondered aloud to himself. "Father would've never allowed this!" He stormed in. d   
The shadowed parlor led to the shabby living room. He saw his mother sitting in the chair. "Mother?" he called excitedly. "She can't hear you, John." A voice answered. Wendy. She stood in the doorway. She looked so much older, so much less composed. "Why . . . what?" "She hasn't responded to me for a year, John. She hasn't moved of her own will for a year. Not since father died." John sat shakily. "When . . . how did this happen?" Wendy stood in front of him, arms folded. "You left. Things went well for a bit, but the family finances did not hold up. I married Beauregard, but by that time even his funds could not help. Beauregard did not wish to stay in this mess, with me . . . Father . . . he hung himself. His necktie on the mantle. Mother could not cope and she's been like this ever since."  
John looked on aghast. "What happened to Beauregard? What happened to Nana?" Wendy gave John a sad smile. "He volunteered." She sat, tears playing in her eyes. "As for Nana… well, father began to go into uncontrollable fits of rage. He shot her, John. Shot her with grandfather's rifle." Wendy smiled, as bitter as a thousand snowy winters. "How have you been the last ten years?" John sat in shock. "I . . I did not know. I was in Neverland." He walked to his mother's eerily still figure. "I'm sorry mother." He wrapped his arms around her neck like when he was a boy. A hand brushed his hair. "Mama?" Mrs. Darling stared into his eyes in dismayed disbelief.  
"John you came back" A tear leaked out both their eyes. "You look so much like your father . . . " she cupped his face tenderly. "James . . . I loved him. But your father . . ." she wept, "He tried. I . . . He sang to you" Tears streamed down her lined face, "You are such a disappointment . . . you always were my little angel . . . I just didn't know you would be my angel of death."  
She went still and stared blankly at the Wall once more. John backed away slowly. Wendy glared accusingly at him. "Don't bother coming back again John. You bring nothing but pain and suffering and sin. You filthy sin-filled wrech.” John swung his hand out to slap her cheek. Hard. "Don't talk to me like that, Wendy, you nasty wench. The only sin is that I'm a pirate without my ship."  
Wendy clutched her stinging face and stared at him as he strode away in to the blue London night. He would not be coming back.


	13. Epilogue

Epilogue

John sat bolt upright in his crusty bed in the inn. He heard something. There was a figure beside him. Michael.   
“Brother. I’ve missed you.” John said. Michael smiled benevolently. ‘And I you, Jphn.”   
John tried to hug Michael, but his arms just went through the boy, like hands through the clear blue waters of the Caribbean Ocean. “Can you ever forgive me Michael?” A breeze was whispered over John’s cheek as Michael raised his chubby hand to his cheek. “I already have. Be a pirate John. As long as you’re a good one.” The blue eyed angel of his life faded away once more, never to be seen again like footprints on the sand. Washed away, but always there.  
John slept soundly, embracing the bear he’d kept all these interminable years. 

John sat in the grimy Barbados inn, holding his frosty glass. He needed a crew and this was the place to find one. The Midnight Rose was anchored in the bay, waiting for its men.   
He took a sip for everyone he'd lost, everyone who's shaped him into the man he was.   
For Michael, his best friend. For Wendy, who was dead to him. For his father and his mother, who tried to make him into a proper gentleman. A drink for Mr. Smee, who taught him to love. And for Hook, who forced him to be strong. He learned the art of deception from Paulo. From Peter Pan, the child-like Nymph, he's learned how to be carefree, but the importance of growing up. Cubby. The Lost Boys taught him the perils of relying on others.  
He finished his drink and set down the glass. He was ready to be a Captain.   
He stood at the bar and brushed back his braids from his face. He held a sign-up sheet tightly and grinned. "Who would like to be on my crew?" He called out. As the line formed and the dusty, burly men signed his sheet, a different man approached him. He was a middle-aged man, and he looked at John analytically. "Do you have a first mate?" the strange man asked. " John was startled. "No. I will decide after I choose my crew, based on experience." The man chuckled and noddled. "It'll be me. You'll see." The man wrote a name on the paper and ambled away.   
The innkeeper finally taking notice of the transaction taking place before him rose from his seat” You don’t have permission to be doing this, sir!” John threw his rum bottle at the innkeeper’s head “Shut up!” The innkeeper ducked down and whistled for his toadies. As the two henchmen approached from behind the bar, John eyed his three opponents warily. Suddenly, the strange man John was conversing with lunged from the shadows and knocked their heads together. The strong hand “Get them… Captain!” John smiled slyly. “I’ll let you take care of them, Hector. But if you should ever be looking for a ship, you’ll know where to find me.” John called to the man as he climbed the windowsill. The panicked bar quieted down as John faced the crowd, back erect and holding a rope, preparing to swing. He looked at the tattoo on his wrist and smiled with a twinkle in his eye. He knew exactly what he was going to say to this crowd of onlookers and potential shipmates. “Ladies! Gentlemen! This will be the day that you will always remember as the day that you almost caught…Captain Jack Sparrow!” He moved to match his name and swung out the window, falling first, and rising again. Just as the sparrow had done all those years ago.


End file.
